My Story
by Mirloc
Summary: An idea I've had kicking around. Harry retaliates against the JKR Books. Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

My Story Harry J. Potter Order of Merlin 1st Class Member of the Wizengomot Member of the Order of the Phoenix The Boy Who Lived  
  
Introduction  
  
I am dedicating this to someone very special, she already knows who she is she prodded me, poked fun at me, and has always been my most loyal advisor, confidant and partner in crime.  
  
Sometimes, Love, dreams do come true.  
  
Harry James Potter  
  
Chapter 1  
  
As with all good, and many not so good, books you have to start somewhere. So here's where I am going to start: It was a long, long time ago. In a land far, far away. A small child heard his father die trying to save his life, and then watched a green glow envelop his mother, and saw the life drain from her loving face.  
  
Of course I don't really remember this. In the presence of Dementors I can still hear my mum and dad's last minutes of life, and I can see the greenish haze surrounding the shape of my mother, and hear her beg and plead for my life. A part of me curses them for their Gryffindor courage and another part understands as I watch my own toddler stumble across the floor. But I am getting ahead of myself.  
  
Sometime after the death of my parents, I was delivered to the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Winging, Surrey in England. My parents both dead, the only choice to make sure I was safe from the Death Eaters still loyal to Voldemort was to place protections similar to the ones surrounding the Ministry of Magic around my aunt and uncle's house.  
  
Let's move forward in time just under ten years, I am sure many of you are wondering what kind of opulent, and decadent pleasures I shared with my 'loving' family in Surrey. Truth be told, I was abused both physically, and mentally by all three members of my 'loving' family. One of my many guilty pleasures includes the knowledge that all three got what was coming to them, the debt for how they treated me was repaid in full by members of the wizarding community.  
  
For a child who had no idea what was in store for him, I felt something was odd in the air that morning. As usual I got the mail, and found the letter that was to invite me to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, though it was several days before I read it, I felt the beginnings of a change. As if I were passing through a doorway that was closing rapidly behind me, shutting me off from the only stability I had known. Sure they didn't care what happened to me, but it was consistent, and normal.  
  
The next few days were a blur of activity. I was moved out of the closet under the stairs to my cousins' second bedroom, where he kept al the junk he had broken. My greatest fear is that one day the wizarding world will recreate the house on Privet Drive, as a museum, and there will be a walkthrough tour with some vapid witch in a bored voice saying "And this is where the Boy Who Lived spent his summers. Note the piece of paper taped to the wall to count off the days until he was able to go back to Hogwarts and continue to fight He Who Must Not Be Named.". Seriously, I wake up screaming to that nightmare, you can ask my wife.  
  
I was excited beyond belief when Hagrid handed me my first birthday cake in my memory. I am sure at the age of one I had one, knowing who my dad and mum were, and their friends, I was sure that I had had a terrific first year of life. It was the next ten that pretty much were the epitome of hell on earth. But on a hut, barely able to keep out the elements, I read those magical words:  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
  
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.  
  
Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress  
  
I am sure to this day Minerva never really knew what the future held when she dictated that letter and sent it off with the owls that attempted to deliver them. If she had even had the most minor idea, would she still have sent it? She assures me that she would have no matter what, my place was here in the wizarding world, but I have my doubts. I know she carries a number of grey hairs on her head from me and my best mate Ron and Hermione. Oh, make no mistake, they are two VERY separate people, but together they are my best mate. It's as simple as that. The three of us together can do almost anything. But if one of us isn't there, it's not going to work. Believe me we have tried when one of us was brassed at one of the others.  
  
So here I am an eleven year old kid with a ticket for Platform 9 ¾, an owl, and a trolley full of stuff, and everyone looking at me like I'm daft. I'm scared, literally I'm frightened witless. Then I saw Molly Weasley (though I didn't know at the time) ushering the lot of her children through King's Cross. I was about to give up and try and figure out how to get back to Privet Drive, when I heard her muttering about muggles. I knew I had found a wizard family, and I followed them, it wasn't until it was Ron's turn that I finally screwed up the courage (and swallowed my pride) enough to ask her how to get on Platform 9 ¾.  
  
For anyone reading this who doesn't know, Molly Weasley is the sweetest, kindest woman on the planet. She took pity on the poor boy who didn't know how to enter their world, without knowing a single thing about him.  
  
Ron followed me through. Somewhat prophetic, actually he felt as if from that moment on he'd always live in the shadow of me. He felt jealous of my scar, my fame, my money. I'd have given it all away to have the riches he's always had; brothers, sister, and the love of his parents. He basked in their pride and care, and didn't see it for what it was until much later.  
  
But look, I'm waxing poetic, and I'm supposed to be telling a story here. Ok, let's bring back the vapid tour-witch. "Now we will move on to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is a replica of the actual compartment where Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger first became friends." HA! Harry Potter made a funny. God we couldn't stand Hermione. If first impressions were all you had to go on, there is no way we would have bother talking to, let alone becoming friends with her.  
  
She knew everything then (or so it seemed to us) she was bossy, and irritating to no end. But honestly, she grows on you. She really doesn't know everything, and she knows it, but it irritates the bloody hell out of her when she has to admit it.  
  
From the Dictionary of Hermione: "I Don't Know" is a foul phrase, and should instead be replaced with "I Need To Look Up Something In the Library." Followed immediately by flaunting off to hide behind books until the answer finally comes to you.  
  
If you ever want to irritate Hermione remind her that Chocolate Frog cards are in fact research material. If she gives you any guff, I have 2 words for you: "Nicholas Flammel" She'll sputter about it not being fair, but that's life. It's not fair.  
  
Well, let's follow the tour-witch to Chapter 2 and see what I really thought of First year.. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: First Year  
  
I understand in the highly acclaimed seven volume set of my life's story (good lord that seventh novel makes Hogwarts: A History seem like a light read) that there are a lot of bits about Fluffy, going to see Hagrid, and eventually me defeating Voldemort who took up residence in the back of Quirrel's head.  
  
That's all fine, and I have actually read it. A word of advice though, if I may (and I may, after all I am writing more or less random stuff and you have already purchased this book, and are as such stuck reading whatever I write) don't read your own biography. You'll find yourself saying things like "This is an utter load of garbage, I did not!" or "Ok, which one of you bastards told her." It really isn't conducive to friendships.  
  
Allow me to lay some things to rest:  
  
Fact: Severous Snape hates me with every fiber of his being, and you know what? He has a right to. After seeing the things my father did to him, it's understandable. Childish as hell, but understandable. He once told Sirius that he was being a fool thinking I was James. Fact is Severous is a bigger fool. He knew better, and does not have the somewhat dubious benefit of having spent the bulk of his adult life in Azkaban to blame on slipping up.  
  
Fact: There was a great, bloody three-headed dog guarding the traps set up to protect the Philosopher's Stone. Fluffy was real, make no mistake about that, as was the Devil's Snare, Chessboard, room of keys, potions and the Mirror of Erised. Fact: We killed (yes it died) a mountain troll in the girls bathroom. We were there because Ron and I were Class A prats to Hermione and we managed to make her feel like dirt. Fiction: Hagrid never let as much slip as the books seem to think he did. If he was that loose lipped, Dumbledore would never have trusted him with the duties he performed. Fiction: Ron and I do not eat like they claim. That would be disgusting. Fiction: Dumbledore is not addled or crazed. His mind is sharp as a tack, and he has the most giving soul of any I know. To quote Hagrid, "E's a great man Dumbledore."  
  
Well, I decided not to go into a point-counterpoint for each part of the books, but I wanted to say what I thought was the most significant parts of my first year. Meeting Ron was a highlight. He became my guide to what's what in the wizard world. Without him, I honestly don't know what I'd do.  
  
He got over the whole "Boy Who Lived" crap early on. By the end of the third week, I was 'just Harry' to him. I found this out by accident, I was returning from the loo (yes Harry Potter uses the toilet boys and girls) and I heard the boys in my dorm talking about me.  
  
Dean Thomas: "Wesley, so what you are getting in good with Potter then?" He had sounded somewhat accusatory, like Ron was manipulating himself into my fame or something.  
  
Ron: "What are you on about? It's just Harry after all."  
  
We don't get to pick our relations, hell I wouldn't have picked mine no matter what, but we can pick our friends. Ron Weasley will always be the brother I never had. Of course, thinking about him that way is kind of sick, because I love Hermione like a sister and after the things I caught them doing in Ron's and my flat.But that won't happen for several chapters.  
  
So let's follow the tour-witch again. I think I'll call her 'Mandy', as she leads us on the tour of my life.  
  
Mandy: "So, like, here's the reconstruction of the Gryffindor common room, and over there is the chair Harry first snogged his wife in."  
  
Well, ok, that won't happen for quite some time, but I swear she wakes me up from these nightmares at least once a month. I think it's the stress of that thrice damned museum going up in Godric's Hollow.  
  
So anyhow I was asked once by a reporter for the Daily Prophet of a memorable event from my first year. What moment truly defined that I was who I am. That's simple, and I doubt any of you can guess.  
  
It was 3:30pm on Thursday the 11th of September 1991. Madam Hooch gathered us on a clear, slightly windy day to learn to fly. Nothing was as life altering as that. Well, nothing that happened that year. Many things have come close, but flying has always been the one thing that truly defined who and what I was.  
  
The story is fairly well told, but isn't important, what is critical to this is that it was so easy to fly, and being on the broom had made me feel complete and free, and it was the most natural thing in the world.  
  
I do still have my Firebolt, and I do still fly it as often as I can, and Charley Weasley is the SECOND best Seeker ever! (Refute that buddy.)  
  
Ah yes, Quidditch, there is no sport in the world that does not pale in comparison. None at all, and believe me, I've watched quite a few, both muggle and wizard. A steadfast companion, even when things were horrible, I always had that to look forward to, well, excepting the Tri-wizard thing, and that incident with Umbridge.  
  
But that all happened later, now I am focusing on first year now. Where was I, oh yes, Ron and Hermione. The word 'friends' doesn't quite convey the bond between Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and me. But friends we were, and with a few minor exceptions we were there for each other constantly through our next seven years of school, and well beyond that.  
  
There are many memories, many of which I am sure you have read about from those books that everyone found so delightful. Of course there are topics she did not discuss in the books, some at my insistence and others because they didn't convey the story she wished to tell. Even without painting me out to be a hero, she still did, I look enigmatic and heroic by the end standing up to the ultimate evil.  
  
She never mentioned that the abuse from Vernon was not limited to verbal abuse, though she hinted at it. Oh, don't get me wrong, he never broke anything (other than my glasses or things), and he never scarred me, or burned me, but he would as the American's say 'rough me up a bit'. Particularly when Dudley truly needed it, I was his whipping boy in a way.  
  
Funny that, actually; in the Wizard world I was a prince, and in the muggle world I was whipping boy to some obnoxious son of a middle-class industrialist. It's not that I am trying to shift blame, but honestly, it's over now. Vernon and Petunia are both long passed away, I think Dudley died in an alcohol-related motoring accident, I forget the details, but I know it took a lot of Vernon's wealth, as it were, to hush up the parents of the young lady Dudley had 'been sowing his oats with'. Oh yes, he was a real chip off the old block apparently. He struck her several times, and when he was through with her, cast her out of his auto, and proceeded to leave her to walk several kilometers back to town. I found the police report when I went to clean out their house.  
  
Let's see what else is there to tie up this chapter of my life? The Burrow. I love that house, almost as much as I love the family it houses. I spent many a summer, and honestly most of my first year of adulthood there. It was wonderful then, and it's still wonderful now. I return every Sunday for dinner, because Molly would not have it any other way.  
  
Well, take it away Mandy.  
  
"Thank you Mr. Potter, now if you'll step this way, we'll continue to the reconstruction of the Chamber of Secrets. Watch your step, as it's quite wet in here." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Second Year  
  
"To your left, you'll see a re-enactment of Harry Potter slaying the basilisk and saving the life of Ginny Weasley from the evil clutches of Lord Voldemort."  
  
Yeah, right. If the great bloody snake hadn't been blinded by Fawks, I'd be a skeleton in the real chamber right now, rather than overseeing the construction of this stupid museum. The love of my life would like you all to know she is incredibly grateful for my accidental killing of the bloody great snake.  
  
That I believe, well. There was a lot more to second year than that, but it is the big thing. Fred and George really outdid themselves acting as my bodyguards and shouting warnings like "Make way, seriously evil wizard coming through." It was embarrassing, and yet in a black-humor kind of way funny as well.  
  
Oh, another myth to debunk. Ginny Weasley swears on her honor that she did NOT send that Valentines. She has no idea who really did, but everyone assumes it was her.  
  
Personally, I think it was Fred and George trying to get both of us at one time. It would not be the last time either.  
  
My thoughts on Second Year? I learned quite a bit that year. I learned that not all wizards are wise. See up until then all of the adult wizards I had known (Fred and George don't count) were very wise. Even Mr. Weasley, in his own charming fatherly way was very wise. Then I met Gileroy Lockheart. It renewed my faith that no matter how bad I was, there would always be someone worse than me. Good heavens what a complete git. The man was a total waste.  
  
The Burrow. Yes, another happy summer, well part of it anyhow, spent with my surrogate family. I was frankly fascinated by The Burrow; even the most mundane thing was new and interesting. I was like a kid in a candy store.  
  
I knew then that no matter what I'd never, ever give up on magic. I just had to live in a place like the Weasley's did. Ah yes, the famous Harry Potter, a young man thirsting for any sort of affection thrown into the ocean of caring. No matter how much Molly tries, she'll never really be my mum, but you can't blame her for trying.  
  
Almost to the day three years later she'll let slip that I'm as good as one of her own. I've seen some of the correspondence between Molly and Albus. Trust me when I say this: Albus Dumbledore is the bravest man I know. Molly stopped just short (and I do mean just short) of telling Albus that if he didn't allow me to stay more often at the Burrow that she was going to hex him.  
  
Molly can be scary like that. She can, in the same breath praise Ron, scold Fred and George, admire something Ginny does, tell Charley he needs to get serious and get married, tell Bill to do something about his image, shower me with affection, and tell Arthur that he's being daft. Through it all, every last person knows they are basking in the warmth of Molly's love.  
  
Percy is another story entirely. It took many years for the wounds to heal, but they did. Percy so desperately wanted to be his own person that he lost sight that he already was. He was Head Boy, and his mother could not be prouder.  
  
Things I truly feel bad about missing in my second year, by Harry Potter: The Sorting Ceremony; The Halloween Feast; Being So Wrapped up in Myself That I Missed the Pain Others Were in  
  
Oh yes, poor Harry. So convinced that he was evil personified, that he missed out on the huge signs that there was a problem with Ginny Weasley. If I had opened my damned eyes, I could have spared her the grief and pain that she carries with her today.  
  
But alas, I was twelve, and I knew EVERYTHING was about me. Because it always is, right? Everyone claimed it was. Ron told me so, and in a way he's right. Problems seem to gravitate to me like I'm the center of all things depressing or something. Perhaps that's really why I became an Auror. I figured if the world had planned on me being this massive magnet for problems, perhaps I should be ready for it.  
  
I used to think Albus was off his nut when it came to the DADA teachers. Then I realized he was setting me up. Not on purpose mind, but each one of them taught me something about myself. Even Remus, though I learned more about him after Sirius died, but it was true.  
  
Even Umbridge was a learning experience. That there is a phrase taken from a muggle psychologist. "Learning Experience." It means, you don't die but basically there are times you wish you did.  
  
Hermione gave me a book once, and harped on me to read it. Well, ok, she gave me a LOT of books and harped on me to read them, but this one in particular. It was a year out of Hogwarts and I didn't understand it until after I read it completely. The book is Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzche. Now understand this, I don't agree with some of his concepts, however I have now read that book several times, and have in fact read most of his other works, though the later books are obvious the man was losing his grip on reality.  
  
The concept that I took from him are that we are responsible only for our own actions, and that while many billions of people walk the earth only a rare few will make a distinct impact. What he got wrong was that these 'supermen' as he called them, are not molded by some higher force, they are molded by necessity.  
  
Tom Riddle, for reasons unknown to me, found it necessary to become Voldemort. We really are not so unalike Tom and I. Hell; in the Chamber staring at one another we even looked a bit alike. It was to be the first time I faced a physical form of Voldemort, well sort of. It certainly would not be the last time.  
  
So here we are standing in the Chamber of Secrets. Tom had more or less just informed me of who he was, and that he was basically killing Ginny so that he could live. Lovely, two Voldemorts, just what I needed.  
  
Once again, I was fighting for the world and my life all at the same time. I'll not go into detail; everyone read about it or saw it in the cinema, so there's no point in retelling that same tale.  
  
I will say this though, and you can all dwell on it while Mandy prepares to take us to the next phase of our little tour of my life. When I comforted Ginny after she woke up, I knew I was a dead man. I was going to smile and lead her out of the chamber so she could get to her brother. That my friend was the only truly selfless act I performed. There you go the reality behind the great hero.  
  
I'm not bitter, I am a realist. I was going to die. It's as simple as that, and in that moment, all that mattered was getting her out of that cess pit and to safety.  
  
Nietzche says in Toward a Genealogy of Morals, that "How much respect has a noble person for his enemies! And such respect is already a bridge of love. After all, he demands his enemies for himself, as his distinction; he can stand no enemy but one in whom there is nothing to be despised and much to be honored. Conversely, imagine "the enemy" as conceived by a man of ressentiment -- and here precisely is his deed, his creation: he has conceived "the evil enemy," "the evil one" - and indeed as the fundamental concept from which he then derives, as an after-image and counterinstance, a "good one" -- himself."  
  
Well, let me illuminate something here. This proves that Nietzche is full of shite. I am pretty sure in a hundred years two more names will be added to the list of 'supermen' Tom Riddle and myself. I refer only to the Great War of good and evil. Tom was no doubt the basest person I knew, and knowing the people I knew, that's pretty bad. I am not, however, this noble spirit he writes about, I was a scared kid. Period. I am sure Tom has a place on that list. I do not, however having defeated him all those times makes it plain that the history written will see it another way.  
  
"Thank you Mr. Potter, now, if you'll follow me we'll step over to the recreation of the cell in Azkaban that Harry's godfather Sirius Black was incarcerated in for twelve years." 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Third Year  
  
So much publicity surrounds this year, possibly only dwarfed by that whole Tr-Wizard thing next year, but again I am ahead of myself, aren't I?  
  
For the majority of the year I spent in fear that Sirius Black was trying his damnedest to kill me. In retrospect, I should have known that anything "released by the Ministry" or written in the Daily Profit was a complete load of rubbish, but I was thirteen, and everyone was still icons to me.  
  
Albus Dumbledore was the slightly mad, yet always infallible mentor to me then. Oh, I don't hate him we eventually became quite good friends. But he didn't lose his sainthood just yet. No, he still knew all.  
  
So here I am going through this mess that is my third year, and I realized something. Voldemort didn't try to kill me that year. Oh, I was sure Black was going to, but well, we all know what Sirius was really doing.  
  
One of my most prized possessions came from Sirius Black, my Firebolt. Oh how I love to fly, it pulls away the cares and the weight of the world from my shoulders. After leaving Hogwarts I spent a pile of the money I inherited from Sirius on a house in the countryside. It's huge. Honestly it's the place everyone assumes Harry Potter would live in.  
  
I've been in it exactly four times. I spent a small fortune on the place, and placed nothing but the best furniture, rugs, and paintings in there. It's a lovely place. I can't stand it. It reminds me of everything that should have been.  
  
Now, on the coast of Wales is another mansion, a sprawling edifice of stone and metalwork. This would be the ancestral home of the Dumbledore's . Oh, I own that too. Albus left it to me in his will, as well as a few other things. Aberforth lives there I think, I'm not sure, I've only been there once and he asked of he could "kip here for a bit".  
  
At first I found it odd that Albus didn't leave the mansion to Aberforth, but a long night's talk over a very old bottle of scotch whiskey explained it all. Aberforth didn't want to own the place; he just wanted somewhere to hole up when he was "between things". He is not very materialistic. Everything he owns fits into a trunk that he carries with him constantly "You never know Harry, which way the winds will blow you."  
  
Last time I saw him was just after the birth of our daughter Megan. He popped in and slept on our couch. Ginny can't stand him, but puts up with him because he's Albus's brother. I like him, in a small way; I guess he reminds me of Sirius. Anyhow at two in the morning Megan decided she needed a nappy change and food. Aberforth stood up suddenly, and said "Fine! Be that way missy!" and he stalked out of the house leaving us all very confused. That was three years ago, but we recieve cards from the strangest of places now and again.  
  
Bother, now I've gone very far off track again as my mind wanders from subject to subject. As I've told my lovely wife, forgetfulness is the sign of a powerful wizard. Well, that's what Dumbledore told me anyway.  
  
Today they finished this inane recreation of the Gryffindor boy's dorm with only two beds in it. When I informed them five slept in a room, the curator told me "It wouldn't be seemly for a wizard such as yourself Mr. Potter to be seen sleeping in a common dorm room." I just sighed and explained that my dorm mates had been Ron Weasley head of MLE, and son of the Minister of Magic, Dean Thomas head of the Wizengamot, Seamus Finnegan as much a hero of the Great War as myself, and Neville Longbottom. Neville really needs no explanation now does he?  
  
Well perhaps my thoughts on Neville do. His mum and dad would be proud; I know his gran was. Neville is an Unspeakable, and was a bloody good Auror when he was in MLE. Neville changed quite a bit after the "Ministry Incident" as it's known now. Oh, he's no Harry Potter, as they say, but he's powerful enough. He's tops in his field of magical botany, and a damn fine job he has done with potions as well once he was able to work without being glared at by Snape.  
  
So where were we before I wandered off on you all? Oh yes, third year. Despite her protests, I am going to tell you all a secret. Ginny Weasley was pretty even then. Of course I had quite a bit on my mind that year, and barely said more than three words to her at a time all year.  
  
Merlin, I learned so much that year. Dementors, Boggarts, Werewolves, my mum and dad, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black. I learned to not trust everything for what it was, and god I wish I had learned that lesson better. But that's my trademark "hero thing" as Hermione put it in our fifth year.  
  
Of course Black wasn't out to kill me, he was trying to protect me and kill Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew, now there's another anomaly. I should hate the man; he did after all turn traitor on his friends, directly caused the deaths of all of the Marauders, and lured Ginny into a trap in her seventh year. But I can only feel pity for him. In the end his inaction cost Voldemort the battle, and his life. But that's a tale for later in the book isn't it?  
  
Oh, and Mandy, what other treasures of the past have you for us to see?  
  
"You'll see over here is a replica of the room Harry Potter and Ron Weasley shared during their stay in Hogwarts. Notice the perfectly folded clothes, and almost unbearable neatness of his personal things?"  
  
Yeah, right. That damned Monster Book of Monsters ate holes in anything that got near it, and god help you if two of them got within four meters of one another. I loved Hagrid dearly, but that man has a very odd sense of humor and what things are pet materials. When Mark was born, I had to make Hagrid take back the Wyvern egg he bought so Mark would have "a proper pet". Ginny was thinking a dog when she agreed to let Hagrid get Mark a pet. She should have known better.  
  
So anyway our room was NEVER that neat, except during the sorting ceremony. I know our room in particular only Dobby would clean, well actually all of Gryffindor Tower because of those damned hats. Well, that's also a story for a later chapter.  
  
Well, it's not like we were total slobs, it's just a lot easier to find your stuff when it's not all packed away. See you place the clean clothes in your cabinet, and the dirty ones on the floor in a heap and the elves return them the next day cleaned and folded. The books I wasn't currently using stacked up next to my bedside table where I stored my parchment, ink and spare quills. My trunk held my other items (shoes, spare robes, gifts.). My broomstick leaned against the headboard of my bed.  
  
In the "recreation" a fake Firebolt leans against an intricately carved broomstick holder, you know the ones that cost fifty galleons. My books are carefully stacked in the open cupboard and my clothes are neatly arranged on hangers. There are a couple pair of shoes neatly lined up under the bed, and a picture of my parents rests on the nightstand in a silver frame. It's a muggle version of one of the pictures from my album. Colin did it for them; he's the only non-family member I ever allowed to handle my photo album.  
  
Well, I managed to distract myself again. So I was sitting here thinking about third year. Quidditch was of course very much on my mind, as was the every looming danger of someone trying to kill me, and those damned Dementors. Destroying them was the best thing Mr. Weasley EVER did. It was also the first order he gave the Unspeakables upon taking control of the Ministry. I really think to this day that Arthur had them all destroyed for what they did to Bill.  
  
Ron and I visit him at least once a month. We read the Quidditch scores to him, and if a game is on, we listen with him. The medi-witches say that he can't really comprehend, but honestly I don't care. I don't do it to assuage Bill, he's not really there anymore, I do it to comfort my own tortured soul. Ron does it because it's Bill. No one else visits him except Molly and Arthur. Ginny hasn't seen him since I had Bill moved into a private ward. Molly and Arthur both fussed over it as a needless expense, but I could tell they were both grateful. Sometimes it's good to be the Famous Harry Potter. Usually it stinks on ice. I had him moved from St. Mungo's to a private long-term care ward. He has his own room, and everything he could possibly need, if he needed anything.  
  
Well, let's move on then. I didn't really say much about third year did I? Every time I think of that year other memories, horrible memories surface instead. Oliver Wood for example; I was invited to his bachelor party in the summer following my graduation. Ron and I barely made it back home alive. Good lord the amount of alcohol we consumed. Hermione and Ginny were VERY put off with us, but they saw us to bed and the next morning watched him get married.  
  
Six months later we attended his funeral. Apparently Oliver Wood was playing at secret agent, and had been doing work for the Order while hiding behind the guise of "rising Quidditch star". He was on Puddlemere United for several years, and was discovered to be using the games as a means of keeping an eye out for Albus.  
  
Oliver stumbled on the wrong group of men one day. Dumbledore assured me they killed him quickly. I am sure it didn't make Katie Wood any happier. She quit the Tornadoes where she was reserve Chaser, and damn near left the Wizarding world. George Weasley got to her first.  
  
Oh there was an odd couple. They still are, for that matter, having been together now for seven years. Molly thinks they should get married and "stop living in sin". I think whatever makes them happy.  
  
Ah well Mandy, let's leave this part of my life, and, much as I am sure I'll regret this, let's move on to my fourth year.  
  
"Spanking good idea Mr. Potter, now if you'll step this way I'll show you a recreation of the four challenges of the Tri-Wizard tournament in which Harry Potter became the Hogwarts Champion, and Champion of the tournament." 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Fourth Year  
  
Well, that would be three challenges. My god, I spent sixteen hours explaining that to them. I think the "historian" is still trying to come up with a fourth task. I checked back almost three hundred years. Three tasks. That's it. Three. Gits.  
  
How else could I start my fourth year story than with the Quidditch World Cup? Merlin! What an experience. I've been since, and no doubt I'll go again, but that first one was fabulous, despite the entire Crouch thing. Oh, it was brilliant. I had already begun to think of what I was going to do in the oh-so-far-away future. I saw myself flying Seeker professionally that day, and dreamt about it that night, well until the Death Eaters showed up at least.  
  
So my fourth year and the Tri-Wizard mess. I was so bloody embarrassed when the Goblet of Fire disgorged my name. I knew then I didn't put it in the cup, but Ron was so utterly brassed at me.  
  
It was the first time without Ron by my side, and honestly it's where I learned that Ron and Hermione together made up my best friend. Because she was atrocious by herself; she really does need Ron to temper her, and she really isn't good with empathy.  
  
I know Hagrid really did have my best interests at heart, and he really does find the most disturbing things fascinating, and he does have this thing for dragons. But how he could look at those monsters and not be shaken by plain abject terror is beyond me.  
  
Telling Diggory about the dragons seemed to be the right thing to do, I knew for a fact Fleur and Viktor knew, and well - I just wanted everyone on the same foot.  
  
I'll not lie, there's no point in it. I damn near wet myself that morning waiting for my Firebolt to arrive after performing the summoning charm. You know, to this day I am not sure why we didn't think of summoning the damned egg. Of course I was a bit preoccupied with the dragons as a whole, and it just never occurred to me to try something different. Ron says he thinks the eggs were charmed not to be able to be moved by magic.  
  
Dragons are frightening things. Charley Weasley is a complete and utter prat by the way. Two years ago, that mindless git took me and Ginny on a trip to Romania to visit some old friends. Ginny thought I could use a few months abroad, and so we went with Charley expecting to find his friends at some sort of small village. He took us to that damned Dragon Reserve. You want to knmow a few things about dragons? Here's some tips for you:  
  
They have excellent memories. This is completely true, they remember scents (this is important boys and girls), particularly the scent of anything that bonds with them or threatens them. They have excellent senses of smell. Miles, Charley tells me, miles away they can identify different a human smell out of a herd of sheep for example. There is a specific Hungarian Horntail that hates me.  
  
As you may have guessed less than fifteen minutes after Apparating into the reserve, this bloody great dragon comes barreling down on us eyes looking at yours truly for a snack. Oh they stunned it, but as you can guess The Boy Who Lived became the Boy Who Messed His Pants. For any of you who think its funny, try it sometime. Have 5 tons of scaly muscle charge down on you bellowing because you took an egg that wasn't even hers to begin with, almost six years prior.  
  
Charley of course thought this was all great fun, and met us in the tent with a wicked grin and a "so sorry Harry, forgot she's here." Charley Weasley is also a VERY VERY bad liar.  
  
What story of my life would be complete without be opening of the book entitled "How To Have An Abysmal Love Life, by Harry Potter". Oh yes, perfect example: Cho Chang.  
  
Cho and Cedric Diggory were already becoming something of an item, though I was far too thick to realize it, and in classic Potter fashion, I asked her out in the halls. It was simply the most mortifying experience I have ever had. On the other hand, my experience with Cho was nothing compared to Ron's feeble attempt to ask out Fleur.  
  
This of course was compounded by us assuming that Hermione and Ginny would simply drop everything just to be with us. Wow, and I laughed when Fred and George turned Percy's Head Boy badge to say Bighead Boy. Prats I tell you, all boys are prats. I think its part of the grand order of things. See, if boys had even a modicum of tact and polish there would never be any learning done after age sixteen.  
  
Then there was the ball itself. My god, I was beyond embarrassed. One of the key things in the life of someone from the U.K. is we are all taught at an early age (well muggles anyhow) to do anything at all to avoid embarrassment. Sadly, the wizarding world seems to thrive on this aspect of one's emotions. Making us muggle-born or muggle-raised children terrified out of our skulls.  
  
So here we have muggle-raised children behaving like miniature adults, and wizard-raised children behaving like, well, children. Personally, I agree with the wizards, children need to be children. Merlin knows I didn't get a proper childhood, and seeing kids play is very important to me. Well, enough of that.  
  
The ball was a terrific success, or at least that's how it was reported in the papers. However, asking other people will get you very different answers. So let's leave this night with it's (in some cases literally) painful experience behind us and proceed to the Second Task.  
  
"Here is a model of the bottom of the lake at Hogwarts. The small city is where the merpeople live, and it's there that Harry Potter and the rest of the Tri-Wizard champions swam to recover their greatest treasure."  
  
No, it's where Fleur, Cedric, Viktor and I swam, and it wasn't our greatest treasure, it's what we'd miss the most. God you people, sometimes I think you do this on purpose. Oh, and Viktor had the head of a shark, not a carp.  
  
As for Fleur's sister? Gabby is a sweetheart and we see her now and then when she comes to England to visit Fleur. Fleur married Charley Weasley two years after the Tri-Wizard tournament. They had met then, and the letter exchange wore out four owls and some enormous waterfowl Charley had acquired when he couldn't find a post owl to deliver to France. It was frightening the first time I saw the great winged beast flop unceremoniously onto the kitchen table the first time. Hermione searched through books and finally declared it something of a cross between a duck and a Canadian Goose. I'm not sure how that is possible, but she reminded me of the Blast-Ended Screwts, and well that brings us back to the Fourth Year, doesn't it?  
  
My family loves Hagrid very much, he's gentle as a lamb, and I'd place my life in his hands. Well, I mean I did while I was at Hogwarts taking classes with him, but well; he is a touch over the top when it comes to 'interesting creatures'. Typically creatures become more interesting as they become more deadly. I am honestly surprised we didn't find a family of Trolls living in his pumpkin patch. "Aren't they interestin' 'Arry?" He'd say just as they would attempt to kill us all. "Aw, yer frighten' 'em!" and he'd shoo us kids back like we had done something wrong. Merlin I'm glad he retired before my kids got to Hogwarts.  
  
One afternoon, I had paperwork piled up and had honestly forgotten I had promised Megan and Mark a trip to the London Zoo. Ginny was at Ron and Hermione's house helping a very pregnant Hermione out with some housework.  
  
The kids were looking at me like I had kicked their dog, and Hagrid showed up. 'There's a grand idea!' I thought to myself. 'Hagrid can take them to the Zoo!' I looked at my old friend and said. "Hagrid, could I impose a small favor?"  
  
"Sure 'Arry. Whocha need?" His smile was apparent even through his beard.  
  
"Could you take Mark and Megan to the London Zoo?"  
  
"Course 'Arry! C'mon ya scamps!" Beaming with a pride that fairly glowed, Hagrid and my children walked out the door.  
  
Ginny came home two hours later, just as I was finishing the last of the reports, and had poured myself a tall glass of lemonade, and had put my feet up enjoying the peace and quiet.  
  
"Harry, where are the children?" Her eyes darted about.  
  
"At the zoo." I said smugly.  
  
"I do hope for your sake Harry James Potter you didn't send them there alone." Her eyes narrowed.  
  
"Uh, no. Hagrid's with them."  
  
The look of horror on her face had me in a panic. "WHAT? My children are running amok with Rubeus Hagrid? He'll have them trying to pet lions!"  
  
Suddenly I got this nasty thought of the Blast-Ended Skrewts. My stomach did that horrible thing that stomachs do when you realize the worst is happening to your children. I could just see Hagrid now pushing them into a lions den. 'They're REALLY interestin'!"  
  
"Oh god, what have I done?" Images of them traipsing through the Forbidden Forest "You're dad served detention 'ere.' Taking them to werewolf lairs, and the spiders Merlin how Ron had hated the spiders.  
  
Suddenly the door was flung open and Hagrid came in all smiles. Megan and Mark were laughing and holding armloads of balloons, and miniature wax animals. Ginny looked as embarrassed as I did. Of course they went to the zoo. Hagrid would never do anything to allow harm to come of them.  
  
Later that night, after Hagrid had gone home, Ginny and I were talking softly on the couch, the WWN playing in the background, when we saw one of the wax animals in detail. It was a Welsh Green Dragon. My eyes narrowed.  
  
Ginny saw it, and looked at it. "Oh, they went to the London Zoo?" Stamped on the bottom of the figure's base was 'London Zoological Gardens and Mystical Beast Sanctuary'. I had honestly had no idea.  
  
I slept on the couch that night. I think my ears were still ringing in the morning.  
  
Ok then, on to task two. One of the questions I have had asked a number of times was what was it like to eat Gillyweed. Well, I think I can simulate it for you. On a day where you have an incredible head cold, half cook a mass of spinach. Wait for your sinus' to begin to drain, and then stuff the spinach in your mouth, and mix in some detergent for effect. Now, don't gag as you swallow. That's Gillyweed. Truly the most revolting thing I have ever placed in my mouth, and that's saying a bit, I've eaten Ron's cooking.  
  
The Third (and final) task was actually quite easy (considering Viktor was under Imperius and Crouch was hexing off the bad stuff. I managed to hurt myself, enough so that Cedric Diggory being a loyal and truthful Hufflepuff helped me limping forward to take the cup. Lovely. Would have been quite a bit better I am sure if he had lived to appreciate it. From the moment Cedric reached for the cup he was a dead man.  
  
The next few hours were hell. I returned to Hogwarts with the cup, and Cedric's body. It was damn near more than I could bear. Suddenly I felt something. The shining armor Albus Dumbledore wore in my mind began to appear slightly tarnished. He began to look old, and tired.  
  
I try not to dwell on that night or on the Ministry Incident too much. When I find myself doing it, I go to my pensive.  
  
Despite what everyone says Cedric died because of me. If I had been a bit more on edge. Crouch had been shouting at us 'Constant Vigilance!" all damn year. If I had not taken things at face value. If, if, if, if.  
  
Perhaps I wouldn't have made such a mess of Cho Chang.  
  
Harry Potter's thoughts on O.W.L.s. You have bloody well GOT to be kidding me. That's all there is to say really. Hermione kept us studying, and without her there is no way I would have received 8. Ron received 7 himself, and well let's just say Hermione set a record not yet broken at Hogwarts and leave it at that.  
  
Well Mandy, shall we? Though I must say I'm not really looking forward to this, let's go on to my Sixth Year, shall we? 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Fifth Year  
  
"Well Mr. Potter, aren't we forgetting your fifth year?"  
  
Well, no Mandy I don't ever forget it. Not in the last eight years certainly.  
  
I can never forget it. No matter how much I try.  
  
We just returned from a trip to an island in the Mediterranean. Lovely place really. Spent a whole month there actually. The kids are overjoyed to be going home, to see the Gran and Gramp Weasley. So am I to be honest.  
  
I miss talking with Arthur now and then. He's a busy man, the Minister of Magic always is, but in Arthur's case he's never too busy for a grandchild, or child who needs to talk.  
  
When we got back I saw this parchment sitting on my desk with the three lines and chapter heading on it. I had sat at my desk for days on end and Ginny finally said we were going.  
  
I briefly considered getting a Quick Quotes Quill for this chapter, but then thought better of it. I mean who'd want to read: "An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes burn with the tragic memory of his godfather's death that he could have prevented."  
  
Hermione once told me that I needed to stop trying to be the hero everyone paints me as. That I need to just be Harry now and then. Sadly, that is 'just Harry'. There isn't anything else. I'm not a deep person really; I just want a simple life.  
  
A reporter for the Prophet cornered Ginny in the Leaky Cauldron one day and tried to get an interview out of her. We had been married for just a little over a year, and Megan was yet to be born. Ginny had taken to wearing baggy robes in public to hide her condition as much as possible, as we didn't want anyone with a grudge getting any ideas. I'm sure that once everything calmed down, and they removed the quill and parchment from, ah, where Ginny sent it to, that his screams of lawsuit weren't really true. The Aurors explained firmly but quietly that the daughter of the Minister of Magic could pretty much get away with it as self-defense let alone the Minister of Magic's daughter who also happens to be Harry Potter's wife.  
  
The story never made it to the papers. Arthur does, however have in his possession the draft of an article on Daily Prophet letterhead, and has used it on a number of occasions to garner a grudging acceptance out of Ginny on particularly tough issues. Now I know where Fred and George got THAT particular side of themselves.  
  
Don't be fooled, Arthur Weasley is a tough nut. He just uses the innocent grand-fatherly type disguise very well.  
  
The attack on Arthur had really left me feeling at odds with everyone. Particularly Dumbledore, the year before if I so much as had a twinge of pain, I was swept up to the Headmaster's office for a late-night discussion.  
  
It's not humorous that Arthur was attacked; however, it was that Arthur had decided to accept 'radical muggle treatment'. I thought Molly was going to burst at the seams when she found out Arthur had accepted stitches. Ron and I rib Arthur about it to this day, never in earshot of Molly though or we get a real earful.  
  
Hermione brought something home from work last night, which quite frankly is unusual, being as what she does, whatever that is. You see the best and the brightest all wind up in the same place eventually; The Department of Mysteries. Hermione Weasley - Unspeakable, it had a ring to it. Anyway so Hermione brings this, thing for lack of a better word, home and has been prodding it all night. I should explain perhaps. Due to the sensitive nature of, well, of whatever the hell it is that Hermione and Ginny do, we share a house. It's a nice place really. Three floors, more bedrooms that you can imagine, and a kitchen that rivals Hogwarts.  
  
Much to the dismay of S.P.E.W.'s founder we do have elves, a number of them actually. Hermione insisted on giving them all clothes and paying them. I've seen the stack of coins in the basement where they keep it piled up. I've no idea what they are planning to do with it all, but there are eight elves, and they get paid a Galleon a month. The whole process would have been comical, but Hermione was finally beaten down to one Galleon a month and a day off every other month. I am sure none of them actually take the day off, but I could be wrong.  
  
Ron and I are Aurors. They claim some of the best that they have seen in a long time. Of course we are, we had seven years of battling the forces of darkness even before we were, ah, asked to join.  
  
So here we are seventeen years old, just graduated from Hogwarts and four burly gentlemen with dark blue robes and silver trim walk up. "Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?" It really wasn't a question; it was more of a command.  
  
I believe I was quite eloquent when I said quite clearly "Huh?"  
  
We were dragged, um escorted bodily into a small room and a parchment was thrust in front of us. They placed a quill in our hands, pre-inked and the biggest burly guy said "Sign."  
  
With fear quaking through my insides I became far more eloquent "What?"  
  
Ron, however, had managed to regain his wits far faster than I, and in his normal dulcet tones eloquently said. "Who in the bloody fuck do you think you are?" He snapped his quill, and glared at Mr. Burly.  
  
The man blinked in obvious surprise. "I am Auror Roberts, I understood you two wished to be part of the Auror program."  
  
"So you thought you'd play the tough with us? Merlin man, do you have any CLUE who we are? Do you have any idea who THIS is?" He said this last gesticulating wildly at me. "You people are fucking insane." He stood up and shoved me towards the door.  
  
Roberts could not have looked at Ron any stranger if he had sprouted breasts, stripped naked and sung 'God Save The Queen'. "I - that is, er - Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter please." He held out his hands in what was obviously a futile gesture at making peace. "Let's not get hasty."  
  
Ron stopped pushing. "Go on." I heard him say, but his hand remained on my shoulder.  
  
"Well, we have here the contracts for your five year term, this includes one year of physical combat training, one year of law, and a year of advanced magic the balance of the term to be served in the MLE as a field agent."  
  
Ron took his hand off my shoulder and they turned to the desks, looking at the parchment contracts. He read them over, and then looked over the contract they had given to me. Ron's face fell. "Unacceptable." He ripped them and pushed me to the door.  
  
The Auror looked at Ron shrewdly again. "Six years. Same department."  
  
Ron stopped pushing me again. "Five years. Partners."  
  
"Seven years. Same department, same shift."  
  
"Five years. Partners, nor no deal."  
  
The Auror sighed. "Six years. Partners, night shift."  
  
Ron paused. "Six years, partners, nightshift for six months, normal shift for the term."  
  
The door opened and a woman entered who could only really be referred to as regal walked in wearing the robes I was associating with the Aurors. "You four are excused."  
  
Roberts and his clone muscle all walked out of the room without a word. She waved her wand and a soft chair materialized with a small desk in front of it. She reached into the drawer and pulled out two contracts, and looked them over momentarily, and then pushed them towards us. "Ten years, partners, day shift entire term. Weekend visitation privileges for your family."  
  
I looked at my contract noting that mine had the Weasley's named as my family. I looked at her questioningly. "We understand your ah, special circumstances Mr. Potter."  
  
I looked at Ron who shrugged back at me. "I ah, need a new quill." Ron said sheepishly.  
  
"Of course Mr. Weasley." She handed him her quill.  
  
We signed. She smiled at us broadly. "Welcome to the Aurors. I'm Amelia Bones, head of the MLE. Do either of you have any questions?"  
  
Honestly I had a list forming just short of a thousand, but for the life of me, not a single one came to mind. Instead of any question I found myself shaking my head and muttering "No ma'am."  
  
So it was that we became Aurors. But that would actually be in our seventh year, and not in our fifth.  
  
Well, I might as well get on with it. But first I'll finish the story of the thing Hermione brought home. At first Ron thought it was one of those brain-things that attacked him in the Department of Mysteries. No such luck, this thing was far worse.  
  
The ones we saw in the DoM were tame. This thing was wild. It took Ron an hour to enter the same room she was in, and that's only because she was using the kitchen and he was hungry.  
  
Well, it turns out that they found it on a raid, and if they tried to keep it with the tame ones, it tended to aggravate them, and there would be brain-things leaping at one another. God only knows WHY they keep those damned things, but that's a DoM thing, and has nothing to do with us MLE types.  
  
Ginny, also works in DoM, we *think* she works with Hermione. We don't know. We don't WANT to know.  
  
Well, so anyway this brain thing in the middle of the night decides it's going to die on us, and at four in the morning we hear a shriek that could only be described as girlish.  
  
Mind you this is Ron, who stood up to the Dark Lord Voldemort, and captures Dark Wizards as a living right? Right. So Ron is actually STANDING on a chair in the kitchen with this dead brain thing on the ground at his feet. He apparently trod on part of it looking for a glass.  
  
To this day he claims he never shrieked, nor did he climb onto a chair and wet himself. However, I do have this photo Ron has never seen, and for the right price no one else will ever see it.  
  
I learned quite a bit from the twins.  
  
The twins, had it not been for Fred and George, I'd have gone completely mental. They really kept our spirits up even in the face of Umbridge and the rest of the Ministry of Magic's interference.  
  
Now, let's go into a short discussion about Albus Dumbledore. If Albus were still alive, he'd be like a grandfather to me. Always wiser, and very paternal, but with just a touch of mischief.  
  
Sadly, he's not. Albus passed away the year Ron and I were 'on the streets' as they say. His funeral took a week to finish. Viewing times for the body were held over five days alone. The body is buried in an undisclosed location, it's heavily warded, and checked up on frequently by me personally.  
  
Paraniod? Perhaps I am. But Alistair Moody died in his sleep at the age of one hundred fifty three, and it was because he was paranoid. Personally I'll take a little ridicule to ensure I spend as much time in this world as I am allotted.  
  
Odd, I didn't used to feel that way. I just hoped to make it to the end of term. After we destroyed Riddle, I always felt like I was living on borrowed time. That was until Ginnys and my wedding.  
  
If you ever read about some couple that are famous and they run off and find a quiet place to get married, don't tut at them. Smile and be happy for them. Once word got out about the wedding we had people I didn't even KNOW wanting to come. It was, after all to be the social event of the season.  
  
I'm surprised the queen wasn't coming, though Ministers from five other countries were. It was a nightmare. What started out as a quiet ceremony in Ottery St. Catchpole turned into a multi-day affair. Oh yes. Multi-day. As in several. As in damn near a week.  
  
The first day was a rather elegant wedding. Everything Ginny deserved to feel like a princess on her wedding day. The ceremony itself took two full hours. Then enough pictures were taken to ensure every living person in the world muggle and wizard alike had a personal copy. Then we retired to our hotels until the dinner.  
  
The dinner was a catered affair, taking place in a lovely field. I have no idea where the field is, nor do I care to. I apparently have allergies to pollen or some such. I found this out along with four hundred guests when the wind changed direction, and I didn't stop sneezing until Molly gave me a potion to take. The rest went ok I guess, but it was far too much food, and I didn't really care for the company.  
  
The third night was a formal ball, and for the third night in a row, we dressed in our wedding clothes, cleaned and pressed by our elves. The ball was another highly social affair, a 'light buffet' with enough food to feed a small nation and the dance went on until midnight.  
  
That night, we slipped away with little more than hooded black robes and a large bag of gold. In the dead of night Mr. and Mrs. James Evans took a long distance Portkey to Egypt. From there they appeared in Australia where we stayed for a month. That night a lone owl winged its way north to England with a note from us telling Molly and Arthur we were fine, but in hiding in a hotel in muggle Australia. We'd be in contact with them again in three weeks.  
  
We still wound up changing hotels four times in three weeks as the press would find us, and we'd be forced to move to avoid them for another few days. We took a vacation from our vacation a month later; the Potter's slipped from view.  
  
It was while we were away on our honeymoon that I realized something. I EARNED my time here. I was OWED a long, happy life, and dammit, I was getting what was owed to me.  
  
So, Albus Dumbledore then. Mentor? Definitely. Friend? When it suited his purposes. Confidante? In some matters, yes and in others no. The man was very complex, even I who spent more time with him than anyone else never even scratched the surface.  
  
In many ways he had had a worse life than me. He had lived through the hell that was wartime England, and had bested the reigning Dark Lord of the time. We were actually more alike than not honestly.  
  
So it hurt, more than I care to admit most of the time, and it took several years after Albus died to say it aloud, that I had come to regard Albus as the grandfather I knew I had had at one time. Sirius had told me once in Grimmauld Place that he spent time at my grandfather's place after he had run away from home. So I knew they were alive while my parents had been in Hogwarts.  
  
I had also guessed that Potter had been one of the old lines of 'pure blood' magic. Didn't make us any better than anyone else. Just meant we could trace our history back into the past and most of us had wands, and graduated from the same school. One day I'll become more interested in genealogy and I'll trace back my family. Right now though all the family I care about is right here.  
  
Well let's see we've discussed everything I can think of to skirt the issue of the Ministry Incident.  
  
"Well Mr. Potter as you see here we have a special treat then. This area has been set aside to show some of the highlights from the first of a series of skirmishes with You-Know-Who, that eventually lead to his downfall."  
  
It is going to be exceptionally rough to write this section. I really don't want to after all. It's finalizing what happened that night in a way I don't want it finalized. Because by writing it down I am making it permanent, and that's the last thing I wanted to do.  
  
The story goes we took the Thestrals to the Ministry of Magic. This is true. As is the inane badges we received from the booth.  
  
You have to understand that I had never intended on endangering anyone else, let alone my friends, but they are too pig-headed to stay where they are told to. I suppose though, if you are going to be friends the Harry Potter, the qualifications should include 'stubborn git'. Merlin knows they all fit that description.  
  
My first (and last) trip to the Department of Mysteries would have been thrilling if it hadn't been for the fact I was being chased by Death Eaters and trying to rescue Sirius, whom I was sure was being tortured to death.  
  
Which brings me back to the link between me and Riddle. Now that he had learned he could use the link to feed me information and press his emotions on me, it became wise to shut that door off.  
  
Dumbledore tried to explain to me in those last few days of term why he had chosen Severous Snape to teach me Occlumancy, but I wasn't in a mood to listen right then. No, I was far more in a mood to break things.  
  
It makes sense now actually, Snape was the only one who actually used occlumancy to trick Riddle, so it really only makes sense that he teach me to block it. Of course that doesn't change that he actually made it easier for Riddle to get to me. Nor does it change that he made the experience far worse than it had to be.  
  
Armed with, well, nothing really but a driven need to save Sirius, off we fled wands out and spells flying to save someone who was sitting in an armchair in front of a warm fire talking with Remus Lupin about the summer holiday, and if I would be staying there. In his pocket was a small mirror. The twin to the mirror he had given me and I oh so thoughtfully stashed in the bottom of my trunk without ever opening.  
  
Did you forget about the mirror? I did. Great kid like I was, thought of EVERYTHING. Why I executed a near flawless plan, we, except the part about us not getting caught, and the part when I trusted that malevolent house-elf, and the part where I didn't LISTEN to the brightest witch in a century when she told me to try another means to contact Sirius.  
  
Ah yes, for my stunning display of leadership I got my godfather killed. But wait, there's more. I discovered a prophecy that said that it was Tom or me. That's right, to add to all the wonderful things it is to be Harry Potter, I got to include a kill or be killed prophecy on top of that. Yay, what fun.  
  
On the other hand I actually got to see Dumbledore fight. It really was something, if it had been any other duel I would have said it was brilliant. He had a certain flare that one cannot deny. His methods and mastery of magic are without a doubt the most intriguing thing.  
  
I tend to focus on beating down the opponent, and using brute-force barriers to protect myself in duels. Albus used every trick I have ever seen, and I think he made some up on the spot. Sadly I never really talked to him about this, there really wasn't much time before the final battle between me and Riddle, and in the year after, Albus was suffering from the after affects of the curses until he passed away eight months later.  
  
I believe I am the only one who has gotten away with the kind of damage done to a Headmaster's office that I did the night Albus told me about the prophecy. I must have wrecked a thousand galleons with of instruments and furniture. The first thing I did when I saw him that next year was to apologize and promise to replace the items.  
  
Albus laughed and informed me that he kept nothing of any significant value at Hogwarts. I have come to find out that Albus valued very little really. People, knowledge, books these are valuable, but not items, not material wealth.  
  
When you come right down to it, Tom and I are a lot alike. We both have black hair. We are both orphans, and had rough childhoods. We use similar wands, and are really not that un-alike personality wise. Ginny told me it was one of the reasons it was so easy for him to work on her, he acted so much like me.  
  
I have a scar he gave me, and I killed him. That pretty much covered it.  
  
Now, let's continue onward. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Sixth Year  
  
Ok, before I start in on the trials and tribulations of my sixth year, allow me to do a bit of explaining.  
  
My publisher and editor both want to say that they had nothing to do with the last chapter. Oh I assure you they both had piles of ideas on how to "tidy up" the chapter. Tough. My book, my rules.  
  
The fact remains that even now a number of years after the fact that year feels EXACTLY like that chapter reads. Disjointed, difficult, and to the most part I feel as if I am missing something.  
  
Now, dear reader, you know how I feel.  
  
The summer with the Dursley's was, as predictable enough (well to me at least), dull and yet filled with inane tasks. Actually, I almost thanked Vernon. If he had left me to lay about all day the depression would have sunk in so deep it would have never come out.  
  
On July 23rd I was weeding the damn garden. I don't have a garden. I have a lawn. A big one. Ginny would like a garden, bit it is the one thing I refused her in all the time we have been together. No damn garden. Stupid things wind up being my responsibility to weed and de-gnome. Anyhow, on July 23rd I was told via owl to pack my things. I was leaving the Dursley's for the summer.  
  
I stood up, wiped my forehead and walked into the kitchen, explaining that I was leaving that afternoon for the rest of the year. I packed and was quite surprised when two hours later Ginny Weasley arrived at the front door dressing in, might I add a quite fetching muggle outfit.  
  
What surprised me the most was when I opened the door, she hugged me and for the first time in my life it occurred to me. Ginny Weasley was a lovely young lady. You could have knocked me over with a feather.  
  
She helped me carry my things out to the car and I spent the next hour listening to her talk about the summer so far finding that there was nothing even slightly as enchanting as staring into her eyes and listening to her talk.  
  
It wasn't until we arrived at the Burrow that I noticed Bill had been driving, and was smirking at me.  
  
The summer went quite well actually, I discovered that Ginny had been having one on with Ron about Dean. I learned that it's really quite hard to ask your best friend's sister to go out with you. I also learned I am a dismal failure on my own as a boyfriend. Ginny helped though, she was patient and actually quite forgiving. Still is really.  
Hogwarts has not changed, not one stone in hundreds of years. It's the same school Nearly-Headless Nick went to in his time, and it certainly didn't change much after I left.  
  
So I shouldn't be amazed that it was the same place when we returned September 1st. The one difference was I had no sooner set my foot on the steps than Dumbledore had me whisked to his office for a 'little chat'. In retrospect, I assume that he had meant to have this little chat as a way to show he was available to me as before. He even gave me the password to his office and indicated that I should use it whenever I felt I needed him.  
  
That was the critical mistake. I learned last year that there were few times that I truly 'needed' him, and when I honestly DID have need of him, he wasn't around. Arguably one could say the same for Sirius I guess, but Sirius was on the run from both sides of this stupid war. The Death Eaters still wanted to kill him, many for their own reasons, some just because it would get to me. They never did pardon Sirius, not until Arthur was Minister of Magic. Fudge 'didn't want to have the Ministry appear to be in the wrong in our darkest hour.' The man was so full of shite his hair was brown.  
  
Dumbledore on the other hand was a free man, and had always had a free hand to do pretty much as he pleased. Yet, he never showed me half the respect Sirius Black did. Role model my ass. He was an old man who knew his time was drawing near.  
  
There is a statue, and ugly piece of artwork, in the main entrance to the Ministry of Magic. It is a horrible edifice to the lasting memory of the wizard's greatest sin. Pride. Now, it's good to take pride in what you do. It's not to allow that pride to blind you to the other people.  
  
This statue was destroyed in my fifth year fighting Riddle, just before I learned the contents of the prophecy. It shows a manly wizard, and a voluptuous witch being looked at with sappy adoration by a centaur and house elf. Well, ok, the house elf is appropriate, but the centaur is a travesty. They are a proud race, and very wise. Problem is, the wizards and centaurs will be at loggerheads until the end of time I believe. Both sides are too damn stubborn to realize they are both wrong.  
  
The statue was rebuilt two days later, I know because I had to go to a tribunal on the return of Voldemort, and swear in my testimony. Yeah, the same one I had given as a warning a year earlier.  
  
It went something like this:  
  
"Mr. Potter, we understand you claim to have seen the rebirth of You- Know-Who?"  
  
"Minister Fudge, Voldemort returned to power over a year ago. I already explained this to you, but YOU were far too short sighted and just wanted to see me ridiculed in the Daily Profit. Shall I read from one of these articles then?" I asked brandishing a stack of clippings over an inch thick.  
  
"I - I don't see the relevance."  
  
"I do you pompous ass. I warned you over a year ago that Voldemort was back and YOU tried to make me into a raving lunatic. You knew damn well he was back, and yet YOU let him have free reign because it wasn't popular." I threw the stack at the feet of the Wizengamot.  
  
"Harry, please." Dumbledore said. "We just want to hear the story again."  
  
"You know what Professor? How in the hell can you sit there calm as this? You were there damn it. You fought him in the very entrance hall to this building. The most secure are in the wizard world and a small handful of students managed to not only get in, but get to the very core of the Department of Mysteries, followed by Voldemort and half the bloody Death Eaters too." By now I had lost what shred of self control I had and just wanted to scream in frustration. "How in the hell can you people sit on your fat arses while Voldemort STILL has free reign over Europe and England. How DARE you.  
  
"This is what you need to know. He's back. He killed Cedric Diggory, and Bertha Jenkins over a year ago. Last year he killed Sirius Black."  
  
"Bloody good for him, saved us the trouble." I don't know the name of that wizard. I have looked for him too. If he's lucky, he died in the war.  
  
"Don't you EVER dare say that about Sirius Black again. He is innocent and that bastard knows it." If you can't guess, I was pointing to Dumbledore. "Peter Pettigrew isn't dead, and he sure as hell isn't a hero. He's a low-life scum who turned the only people who liked his miserable hide over to Voldemort."  
  
"We aren't here to discuss Sirius, Harry." Dumbledore's voice was soft, and for a moment I forgot that I hated him.  
  
"He's dead Professor. He - he died because of me." The anger flared up again quickly. "I'm through with you. You can all rot in hell."  
  
I left the Wizengamot, and was returned to the Dursley's.  
  
I don't really care what they thought of me. Still even. Yup, I'm a member but to be honest, I never go to the meetings. I heard from Ron that they have considered having me removed from the council. Honestly I could care less, but I am after all the most powerful wizard in the world apparently, and that means a seat on the council of wizards.  
  
I'd like to write about the great adventure I had this year, but there wasn't one. Not really. Not like the kind books are written about. Well, I did catch Pettigrew, and I did face Lestrange, but it really wasn't like I tried to get into trouble.  
  
I had a girlfriend, and just before I headed out that night to catch Pettigrew, she told me a great secret. She loved me. I found myself saying that I loved her too before I even realized what I was saying. It just kind of fell out, you know?  
  
Then she got all teary, and said I didn't have to say it if I didn't mean it. She got even tearier when I told her I meant it. Women, what are you going to do?  
  
So Ron, Neville and I caught Pettigrew that night. It's not like it was all that tough really. Pettigrew is a worthless rat. Literally. Ron even agreed while he was a pet he was worthless. He is damn near a squib. I swear he only made it through school because of my dad and the rest of the Marauders.  
  
He was pathetically easy to catch. Even with the silver hand Voldemort gave him. He's still a useless piece of filth. He's lucky he was alive when I turned him over to the Ministry.  
  
We caught him after he escaped Azkaban three years later. God only knows how he managed to escape though. We returned the body to the Ministry the next day. Stupid git actually thought he could use an unforgivable. The story goes we caught him on a roof top, and he lost his balance when I disarmed him. Ron will back me up, he was there.  
  
Sadly, Bellatrix decided she would not come quietly. It really was a shame the way that she fell from that bridge. You'd think Voldemort would have a talk with his people to stay away from high places. She might have lived if she hadn't got caught in a freak gust of wind that ensured she hit the pilings. Ron and I agree, it was the strangest thing either of us ever saw. Ginny and Hermione were with us, they will back up the story too.  
  
Ron and Hermione really hit it off that year. Apparently all that extra "study" time Ron and Hermione had been up to last year was in biology. I caught them in a, uh, compromising position just before the end of the year. Let's just say I never knew she had it in her and leave it at that.  
  
Well then, shall we continue on to the action packed seventh year?  
  
I'm sure it's why most of you are reading. After all not much was written in the papers about it. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Seventh Year  
  
How to summarize seventh year, by Harry Potter.  
  
Boy fights incredibly bad wizard. Boy dies. Incredibly bad wizard gloats. Boy appears behind incredibly bad wizard. Incredibly bad wizard dies. Boy turns out to be different boy drinking Polyjuice potion. Boy collapses, and is carted off to hospital. Boy takes tests. Boy passes and is recruited into Auror program. Boy pines for girl who needs to go to school for another year.  
  
Ok, that was badly done.  
  
But it's accurate. On October 31st, 1998 exactly seventeen years after my parents died, I was awoken by someone in my dorm room that did not belong there, and at least to me, was not welcome.  
  
Dumbledore sat in a chair by my bedside and asked me a question. "Are you ready?"  
  
Thoughts of sleep evaporated. I thought about this for a minute, and answered "Yes."  
  
He stood then. "Meet me in the Common Room. Bring what you think you might need."  
  
He left, and closed the door behind him. I thought about it long and hard. What would I need after all? My wand of course, my broom would be silly, clothes would be a good thing, shoes, socks, all thrown into the bag I found on my trunk.  
  
I dressed; at some point Neville woke up. "Harry? What's going on mate?"  
  
"I'm going now Neville. It's time." Really I didn't need to expound on it. We all knew what I was going to do. It wasn't a secret.  
  
What shocked the hell out of me was Neville standing up. "I'm coming Harry."  
  
I didn't know what to say. "Neville, stay here mate, you'll be safer."  
  
"I don't want to be safe Harry. I'm your friend. I want to help." He looked at me imploringly. Oh, he was a good friend, not like Ron and Hermione, and god nothing like Ginny. But Neville was something else.  
  
"Ok, I guess." It was then I noticed a second pack on my trunk. I remember thinking 'god damn him, he knew all along.' And tossing the spare rucksack to Neville. "Pack what you think you need mate. Meet us in the common room."  
  
I went to the bathroom. Hey, you would too. By the time I managed to make my way downstairs Neville was there with Dumbledore.  
  
He looked at me a second. "Are you sure you have everything Harry?"  
  
I looked at Neville and smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure."  
  
We took one of those horrible port keys out into a field. It looked like a war had been going on for several days. With a shock I realized that's exactly what it was. We made our way to a tent; the Aurors there let us in without a word. Behind the desk sat an old grizzled wizard.  
  
"This is our secret weapon? Two boys hardly old enough to wipe their own arses Albus?" He looked at us in contempt.  
  
"They are the ones the prophesy alludes to." He said simply.  
  
The older man sighed. "Fine. They are holed up here." His finger jabbed a spot on the map. "Voldemort is with them."  
  
Albus looked at the map. "Harry, you will accompany one Auror, Neville the other." The two Aurors from the doorway were apparently standing behind us.  
  
Suddenly I felt something hit me on the head. "Sorry." The Auror behind me said uncomfortably. I rubbed my head not realizing what they had just done.  
  
See, this whole thing was staged. They knew all along. The only people left in the dark were Neville and I. That's right; when the Auror 'accidentally' bumped me it was so I wouldn't feel them taking a few strands of hair.  
  
Bravo, you tricked two seventeen year old kids. We separated, can't have too many Harry Potters now, can we? Neville went one way with an Auror and Dumbledore, and I went the other with just an Auror.  
  
By the time I got there, Neville was falling to the ground dead.  
  
I understand he actually fought hard. He held Voldemort at bay for ten minutes, dodging and cursing right along with the best of them. Tonight however, the odds were stacked against my friend.  
  
I killed Voldemort right then. There was no flash of light, boom of thunder or signing of the heavenly host. It was a single spell fired into Voldemort's back. I don't believe he even knew who killed him. Two simple words and he fell. Avada Kedavra.  
  
It doesn't take much to hate a person enough to kill them. At that moment, I did. Suddenly bereft of hate, I found myself falling into the arms of the last person in the world I wanted to see. Dumbledore.  
  
I passed out. Though I have vague memories of leaving the battlefield. It would take several more days of fighting for us to 'win' the war.  
  
I returned to Hogwarts, I can only assume it was by Portkey, and woke up on November eighth. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were there waiting for me to wake up.  
  
Ron was brassed off because I left without him, Hermione's knickers were in a twist because I didn't let them know. Ginny was thoroughly upset that I hadn't even said good bye.  
  
Two days later I was allowed to leave the hospital wing, and did so under the watchful stare of Albus Dumbledore. I stopped in front of him. "I hate you." And walked on.  
  
Three months later you couldn't tell we had had a row. Ginny was snuggled up to me like normal, and Ron and Hermione were bickering over something stupid. Ron said it was so he could get in some prime snogging later on as he 'made it up to her.' He is so pathetic.  
  
The common room hushed as the portrait opened, and Dumbledore walked in. "Mr. Potter, I wish to speak with you."  
  
"I don't." I stood and began walking to my room.  
  
"Don't make this any harder than it has to be Harry."  
  
I turned on him. It was unfair as hell, and I knew it then. "Really, is that what you told Neville you lying, murderous bastard?"  
  
His head drooped. "I do not wish to have this discussion here Harry."  
  
"That's just too bloody fucking bad Albus because I am not going anywhere." To their credit no one moved. Not even flinched when I said that and called him by his first name. No one does that.  
  
"Mr. Potter!" I heard McGonagall say. "I'll not have you."  
  
Honestly, I'm not sure what she would not have me do, I didn't really care either. "What tell the truth? That bastard KILLED Neville Longbottom and he damn well knows it." Oh yes, the Harry Potter Finger of Shame was pointing solidly at Dumbledore.  
  
"Mr. Potter!"  
  
"Now, Minerva." Albus said his hand on her arm.  
  
"No! Don't you dare! You are either a heartless bastard or you care, you fucking well can't do both!" I was trembling by this point. Glasses on tables were beginning to quiver. "You have no bloody damn right to be in here! You are no Gryffindor, you are a god damned Slytherin! No one else could be that fucking heartless to let a seventeen year old kid get killed!"  
  
"Eighteen." Dumbledore said.  
  
"What?" I had deflated quite a bit at this point.  
  
"I admit Harry, we had every intention on using the polyjuice potion to create a diversion. Neville asked to take it. He knew the risks, but did it anyway. He was an adult. He could make his own choices."  
  
The argument lasted another fifteen minutes of me alternately screaming insults at him and sobbing over what we had both done.  
  
Of course, Albus never did tell me how old Neville was. I just knew his birthday was near mine and I had assumed Neville was eleven when he came to Hogwarts. But no, his gran had held him back a year, hoping he'd be more powerful, like his dad.  
  
I told Neville's grandmother. I told her that her grandson died fighting Voldemort, and that his parents would have been damn proud. I knew I was.  
  
After that the year was actually quite disappointingly boring. Studying for N.E.W.T.s and Ginny occupied my non Quidditch time.  
  
N.E.W.T.s then? The score was I received 7, Ron got 9, and well. Hermione's in Hogwart's a History as 'Highest Score on N.E.W.T. exam in one hundred years."  
  
Ron and Hermione married that summer. It was a, ah, rush wedding. Apparently Hermione isn't perfect at everything. Thank god Ginny is. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8 - Year 1 ADV  
  
I am sure you are expecting my first year out of school to be filled with exciting Auror training, drunken binges with Ron, or hunting down evil wizards.  
  
Sorry, but the reality is I spent the summer safely ensconced in the privacy of The Burrow. I was actually under the Fidelious charm, as much as I trust it (and that's not very damn far). I spent my time learning a few tricks from Molly and Arthur. Mostly housekeeping and cleaning magic.  
  
Ginny and I spent a lot of time together. About mid-August Ron and Hermione announced they'd be getting married. Quickly.  
  
Arthur was overjoyed; Molly scolded them both, and then welcomed Hermione to the family. Then Ginny and I got "The Talk". God how embarrassing to have that kind of conversation, let alone in front of your girlfriend, from her parents no less. We didn't have intimate contact for a month afterwards, and even then we wound up busting up laughing and nothing actually happened.  
  
Ginny was very, very good for me. She kept me out of trouble, no doubt about that at all.  
  
So when did we 'become a couple'? Ahhh, to answer that we'd need to set the way back machine to 1996. (That's a muggle reference, sorry but to explain it would take too much time, and effort. Find a muggle-born and ask them.)  
  
So September 1st, 1996 Ron and Hermione were holding hands and staring at one another all gushy like. To tease them, Ginny and I were doing the same thing. Suddenly, we stopped talking because we both saw it. We felt it, and it hit us like a run-away train.  
  
Well, ok, the train hit a turn as we were doing kissy-faces, and Ginny lurched into me, next thing you know we were really kissing and god I didn't EVER want to stop.  
  
We came up for air about a month later, well ok more like ten minutes or so, and Ron was sitting there with a huge grin on his mug and Hermione was looking positively scandalized.  
  
Luna and Neville had arrived more or less to see the whole thing, and in that irritating way she has of speaking said, "Oh I just knew this would come to pass." It's spooky how she can sound SO much like Trelawney sometimes.  
  
Well we spent the remainder of our time at Hogwarts, snogging or fighting, and you know something? Ron's right, the best part about a good row is that you get to snog at the end.  
  
Well, following the summer and a horribly teary and sappy goodbye to Ginny (who by the way I saw every Hogsmeade weekend and holiday), Ron and I tromped off to the Academy.  
  
So what's it like in Auror Academy as Harry Potter? Much like anywhere else really. There's this shocked 'Blimey! That's Harry Potter!' and eventually everyone calms down and I become 'Harry Potter, that bloke in third row.'  
  
We spent our first month in heavy physical training. It's amazing what certain spells and potions can do to accelerate the process of getting into shape, but even so, these potions and spells DO need certain physical activity to keep them powerful. Once we got into shape maintaining it was paramount.  
  
The next several months were spent learning spells, potions, and physical combat. Apparently at some point a muggle-born joined the Aurors and was able to defeat any instructor by a unique combination of martial arts and magic. This particular form of magic and physical combat made the special services Aurors quite formidable.  
  
I'll give you three guesses where Ron and I were sent. The first two don't count. To her credit, Mai, the fore-mentioned Auror, was not taken aback by the shining example of my physical presence. No, she seemed undaunted to teaching a demi-god, and proved it by slapping me around the training center personally. Every day. For several months at a time.  
  
To this day I hate her guts.  
  
She did however instill in Ron and myself a very solid foundation in her personal style of martial arts, and a deep appreciation for the art itself. I just wish she hadn't been so hard on me. Ron never was half as bruised as I was. He claims it's because of the two of us, he had the thinnest head. I assure anyone who will listen that it was because she had a thing against me.  
  
Following potions, physical training, spells and my own personal hell, we went straight into law. I know now who taught Professor Binns. His name is Scholar-Auror Philippe Jord. S-A Jord made Binns' classes seem full of life, exciting, and riveting.  
  
Did you know it's illegal to use levitation charms to dump water on someone? Did you know the punishment is 20 lashes in the center of the square, and you had to stay there for three days until the public had their fill of taunting you with dumping no more than a tankard of water on your head? We have some damn stupid laws. S-A Jord knows all about them, and he'll happily tell you hours and hours more horribly exciting laws like that one still on the books that have yet to be repealed. Have him over sometime as a party guest. He can entertain you for hours and hours..  
  
Yeah, it was dull at parts, it was hell in parts, but over all it REALLY wasn't much more difficult than anything else I had done. When it was over, Ron and I left the training facility with a two month leave.  
  
That was June eighth. Hermione was already at The Burrow, and had been for several days. While Ron and I complained of the indignities heaped upon us, Hermione smiled, nodded appreciatively and said nothing on the topic, so we in turn dropped it.  
  
That night Ron and Hermione had a glorious reunion. I'm surprised that they managed to get a silencing charm up. Must have been when they forgot that spell. Hermione insisted that she never had messed up a charm, and it must have been Ron's fault. Whatever, they are married and have a couple of kids now, and are model parents with equally model children.  
  
Now, Ginny and I got married a few months after Ron and Hermione's rather hasty date, not for any other reason than we really saw no point in waiting. Ginny joined the Aurors, and spent the next 8 months in training. She too is very tight lipped about everything that goes on at work.  
  
So how do I deal with it? Honestly I know Ginny, and trust her completely. I don't WANT to know what she does all day. On the other hand it makes for interesting nights.  
  
"Ginny, would you like to go out to the Three Broomsticks tonight?"  
  
"Sure Harry, let me floo mum and see if she'll take Mark and Meg for a couple hours."  
  
Ginny talks to her mum, who agrees to watch the kids, heck any chance Molly has at watching her 'dear angels'. Well, anyhow.  
  
"Ok, let's go and see what trouble we can stir up."  
  
We walk into the pub and a charming man of twenty something walks up to us and chats to Ginny like an old friend. I immediately hate the man, and am looking for a clue to who he is, they talk in all pronouns, no names are ever said.  
  
This naturally irritates the hell out of me, and I wind up getting Ginny royally brassed at me because I'll interject completely nonsensical statements like "He said we shouldn't do THAT kind of thing." into their conversation.  
  
"Harry! You know that is irritating! Stop it."  
  
Or better yet I'll start telling stories from work, like about the witch who addled herself and was stalking up and down Diagon Alley covered herself in pumpkin pie filling and not a stitch of clothing, and gobbling at people. We think she was an American, but we aren't sure really. It's good for a laugh or two at headquarters, but her co-workers seem unimpressed.  
  
So I find out Mr. Charm is an Unspeakable, just like Ginny and Hermione. Then, all of a sudden Mr. Charm realizes who I am, and the proximity I am to Ginny, and my use of "My dearest wife." (That's subtle Potter hints for you.)  
  
His eyes go round, and he begins the hero-worshipping stage of being in the presence of my magnificence. He then mumbles some vague apology and scrambles off to find someone who is truly impressed by his status.  
  
Ginny turned to me and noticed me brushing the hair back over my scar. "Harry James Potter!" I get slapped on the arm, and she is moody until I apologize and take her someplace special for a decent dinner, and dancing.  
  
That's the great Potter suck-up in action. Fine dinner and dancing. Works every time. Ginny turns to putty, and we wind up apologizing to Molly for not picking the kids up until the next morning, and sometimes not until late the next morning depending on how well things went the night before.  
  
Well, anyhow so the end result of this was a flat in Hogsmeade (where I caught my two best friends ah, shall we say ill-prepared for visitors), and less than a year later found those two married and house hunting, and Ginny and I to live in the flat until she found out she wasn't suffering from the flu.  
  
We found a perfectly lovely cottage in the country, by the coast actually, and bought it.  
  
That night we spent in the new house was to be the last night we ever spent there. We were attacked in the middle of the night. We had both been foolish; we had allowed the relative peace to lull us into believing we'd ever be able to live a normal life. There were only two of them and they simply were no match for me, let alone me with Ginny backing me.  
  
I took them in with me the next morning, Ginny arrived at the questioning and 'officially made this a case for the Unspeakables'. Normally this would really rankle me. I hate it when those oh-so-smug bastards come in and take our prisoners.  
  
That day it was worse than normal. Mr. Charm was there, looking all spanking neat and holding an official looking document. Ron looked it over and 'accidentally' set it on fire. Ginny didn't appreciate it, and explained that the attack had been made on an Unspeakable, and was therefore their jurisdiction. I retorted that it had also been made on an Auror, and therefore made it our case.  
  
I actually felt a small amount of pity for the attackers. At one point we offered to divide them up, the Aurors kept the top and the Unspeakables the bottoms. Had they not been silenced I am sure they would have been screaming their story out, but actually I wasn't interested in that.  
  
Well, things degenerated until it turned into a full blown Weasley family argument that wasn't stopped until someone called in Hermione and Mr. Charm was removed from the room. Well, and someone used a stunning spell.  
  
I was then informed that Mr. Charm was Ginny's partner, and that any further attempts by me to intimidate or look up his information would result in my summary expulsion from the Aurors.  
  
Mr. Charm and I have a long history of not liking one another. The problem is, Ginny seems to be in the middle all of the time, on one hand she is defending her partner from a husband who honestly could mop the floor with his pretty face. On the other she is a loving and caring wife, and mother and I know she wouldn't do anything behind my back.  
  
I still don't like him. I've known him for six years, and I still hate him.  
  
That first summer I had the rather difficult task of burying Albus Dumbledore. He had named me executor to his estate, and left me a certain number of items that I needed to care for.  
  
I got his Pensive; in it he left me a message. It was his side of the events that tore us apart. I spent several hours considering everything he left me, and now I understand. I have not fully forgiven Albus, but I believe we are on better terms now.  
  
I have the benefit of being able to consult with him, so to speak, on a number of matters. Mr. Charm was one of them. You'll never guess who happened to know his real name. Mr. Charm was apparently just a year behind us in Ravenclaw. I never knew the git then, but he knew me, and he had had his eye on Ginny since her and I had gone out. He just never found time to be alone with her. Until training that is.  
  
I still hate him.  
  
However, for sake of decency and some semblance of interdepartmental well being I won't give out his name. However, and I KNOW he's reading this, because some anonymous white owl delivered a copy to him. Not that I had anything to do with it, just a reminder pal. I'm married to her, so back off.  
  
Well, the end result of the Famous Harry Potter, and his wife the Unspeakable, was that we needed to be under twenty four hour protection by an Auror. Who better than one Ron Weasley, partner to the afore-mentioned Famous Harry Potter, and brother of the afore-mentioned Unspeakable. With the dubious honor of having another Unspeakable at the same time.  
  
So it was that we left our lovely dream cottage by the sea, and bought a rather good sized house that with all the charms turned it into a complete maze. The house itself is a defense system. We don't actually live there, but it looks as if we do. No children play outside on the swings and in the sandbox, though it appears as if the toys are regularly moved, and the clutter shifts about seemingly on it's own.  
  
Actually it's house elves; specifically Dobby and Winky. They consider it a privilege to keep our secrets and to make sure that the "Potter Estate" appears lived in.  
  
In reality we live elsewhere, I'll not really say where, and the fact that I personally incarcerated the last of the Death Eaters. Well, after they got out of the hospital I am assured they'll go to jail. Though I doubt they will be leaving that part of St. Mungo's anytime soon.  
  
Perhaps Malfoy can keep the Longbottoms company, I just wish he could remember more than the previous five minutes of his life. Damn shame about that memory charm, Ron assures me anyone could have made the same mistake.  
  
So who haven't I talked about? Alice and Frank Longbottom are still in as bad a shape, they seemed oddly indifferent to me telling them about Neville. Though it tore me up inside.  
  
I visit them on the holidays. Neville's gran has gotten to the point I am sure they will be sharing a room soon. I had them upgraded to a private wing of the hospital. They are talking of calling it the "Potter Wing" as so many people are there through grace of Sirius Black's inheritance.  
  
Oh yes there were piles and piles of Galleons there. Still are actually. Piles of Galleons, and even though the fund supports some fifty people, the goblins assure me that there is more than enough to maintain the fund indefinitely. Sirius would have loved the irony.  
  
The ministry settled with the Black estate for falsely imprisoning Sirius, and paid the amount to me. It was just more gold to heap in the Gringotts account by that point. Blood money that I wanted nothing to do with. Ron and Hermione sat me down and explained that blood money or no, it was money to ensure my children never went to bed hungry or cold.  
  
They are VERY good at persuading me to do things. Or, in this case not to do things. So the money from the Ministry sits in Grongotts split into three neat groups. One for Megan Potter, one for Mark Potter, and the other third is paying the bills on the house we live in with Ron and Hermione.  
  
Oh, and a final note on this chapter if I may, and I may. I don't mind notes from friends inviting me to weddings, birth announcements, death announcements etc. But if we never spent more than fifteen minutes together, I don't want a Christmas card, a gift for either my birthday or Christmas. I don't need any more reminders of the day Voldemort died, trust me; it's etched on the forefront of my mind. And I don't wish to dedicate a statue, bridge or shopping mall.  
  
It's not that I'm not honored, really, but I just want to be Harry Potter, Auror, father, husband, and son-in-law. I don't wish to be a celebrity. I just want to live my life, and be anonymous. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 8 - Year 2 ADV  
  
Wouldn't you bloody well know it? Another birthday has come and I am once again inundated with trinkets and gifts from 'admiring fans' the world over.  
  
I have come to a decision. If you really feel the need to send me a gift, do this instead. Find the gift, find out how much it costs, and then send the money to the following address:  
  
Harry Potter Fund c/o Gringotts - Diagon Alley Branch London, England  
  
The post will know where to send it. The money collected in the fund is used to help children who lost their families in the war, and other good deeds, as I am sure with the amount of money in there it will long surpass me.  
  
Now, I am sure my critics are nay saying that I am using my name for ill-gotten gains. Fact of the matter is, I can't touch the money in there, even if I wanted to, and I don't. I have plenty to live opulently for the remainder of my days, and yet I still work a dirty job as an Auror, and draw a miserable pay for it.  
  
Not because I like spending my days and nights chasing seriously evil wizards, but because someone has to, and Hermione is right, I do have a "saving other people thing". It feels right to me.  
  
Molly told me on the eve of that massive PR event known as my wedding that I should do what I am good at.  
  
Well, ok, here's how it REALLY happened.  
  
I was sitting in Percy's old room, formal dress robes pressed and hanging before me, the dragon hide boots so shiny you could have shaved in them. I was looking at a photo taken of Ginny a year or so back, I don't remember really. In the photo she looked about sixteen or so, and it was obviously taken in the Burrow.  
  
She was reclining across a chair, her legs hanging over one arm, her head resting on the opposite one, and a book was open in her lap. I believe it was a photo album, but that didn't matter. The sun was low in the sky, so it was nearing night time, and the rays were highlighting her hair. It was shimmering softly.  
  
So here I was holding this photo wondering how I was going to support Ginny. I mean here I am barely twenty; I had plenty to make sure we never had to work a day in our lives, but my eyes kept looking up at the dress uniform robes, the MLE badge and rank. The silver piping on the shoulders and sleeves glittering in the early morning light.  
  
How could I go on being an Auror knowing it put her in danger of not having a husband to come home to? How could I live with myself if anything happened to her because I was an Auror?  
  
Then again, she was an Unspeakable, so the same questions came from that side. I was feeling sick and miserable when the door opened, and Molly walked in.  
  
"Harry dear, is everything alright?" She had concern written all over her face. I studied her for a minute and her eyes caught the picture. "Worried about your future dear?"  
  
She sat next to me on the bed, and placed a comforting arm around my shoulders. "God, I don't know what to do Mrs. Weasley. I - I have no one to ask, no one to talk to." I was staying in a house with damn near twenty people thundering about, and I felt lonely, and isolated.  
  
"First off Harry James Potter, you must stop calling me Mrs. Weasley. You are family now, for real. Call me mum." Her eyes were shining with happiness. I'd seen that look several times, pride in one of her children. For the first time it sank into me that Molly really did care for me like one of her own children. Because I saw that look before when she was looking at me, it was fourth year, and she had come to see me knowing that no other family would. She was so proud of me then, and now.  
  
I spilled my story to her. Once I started talking it all came out, the fear that something would happen, and that I'd make a lousy husband and father. She listened and then gave me a big motherly hug.  
  
"Harry, you are a very special person. Not because of this." She brushed my hair away to reveal my scar. "But because of this." Her hand rested over my heart. "You are going to marry my little girl soon, and I could no be happier for both of you. You are both brave, true Gryffindors to the end. There is no doubt to your intelligence; you both have N.E.W.T.s to spare. You both also do what you love to do; you make a difference and help people. Though I really do wish all four of you would have chosen a less dangerous lifestyle, I do understand."  
  
She stood up and turned to leave. "We love you very much Harry. You have always been a son to Arthur and me."  
  
I looked up at her, and through a watery smile said, for the first time ever. "I love you too mum."  
  
I heard her breath catch, and she turned to look at me, and she gave me a smile, even as the tear leaked down her face. Suddenly she started laughing, so hard she had to hold her sides.  
  
I was confused, later she confessed that when I had called her mum it had reminded her of a saying Arthur had picked up from work, something about a red-headed step child.  
  
It confused me, but Arthur seemed to find it quite funny as well. A few years later I learned the saying from an American in the CMA (Central Magic Administration) who was taking custody of an American wizard we had caught in Wales.  
  
We had roughed him up a bit catching him, and the American, a delightful chap named Felix something said it looked like we had "beaten him like a red-headed step child". As soon as he had said that, the whole scene between myself and Molly suddenly became very funny.  
  
I rally do think Felix things I am mental, but he was polite enough to The Boy Who Lived, but they took their leave quite rapidly. Faster than necessary actually. Ron and I offered to take him to the Three Broomsticks, but he declined stating he had deadlines.  
  
I shrugged to Ron and he and I went home as it was late already. I flooed Arthur and Molly and told them that I didn't think the saying was horribly accurate, but that it was funny none the less. We wound up at the Burrow that night for dinner.  
  
I believe I have come to the end of this book. Just a few months ago, I turned thirty, I realize the book isn't horribly long, and is actually quite condensed, considering the volumes already written about me. But this one is by me, and contains my thoughts and feelings.  
  
Perhaps when I am old and doddering, I'll add a few more chapters. But for now, you'll have to be content with this, and the piles of manuscripts written about me.  
  
Harry James Potter Father, Son, Husband. 


End file.
